


The Elf

by timeturners



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Non-Human Humanoid Society, but thats ok, patrick is a friendless kid, pete is one of santa's elves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 16:12:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5504270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeturners/pseuds/timeturners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fine,” Pete says, rolling his eyes. “I … I – well–” A sigh. “I’m – I’m an elf. Like, from the North Pole. I work for Santa Claus. I have a list of kids and what they want for Christmas and I have to find the right gift and wrap it, then send it to sleighs. I’ve never been outside the North Pole before, until now, when my best friend’s sleigh crashed and I got teleported into your house. And now, I’m stuck here with no way of getting back.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Elf

Pete hates Christmas.

It’s probably because he’s an elf, and his job is to make all the humans on Earth happy, but sometimes he likes to brood about how unfair his life is. Like, how he’s a gift wrapping elf and not a gift delivery elf.

Also, he is sometimes irritated by the fact that Santa Claus gets credit for doing all the work in Christmas. Santa Claus is a fat, immortal man who does not do much other than yell at his little helpers all day long, but the old man still gets all the sparkly decorations made for him everywhere in the world.

But Pete’s opinion doesn’t really matter, because he’s just one elf in billions, just one elf who is part of the massive gift production and preparation for delivery that happens all year long.

Sometimes the elves who have been blessed with the skill at being able to control reindeer get to drive the sleighs that deliver presents around the world. These elves sometimes train outside, get to scout the pathway they have to make on night of the twenty forth of December. Pete envies these elves _so much_ , because he wants nothing better than to escape the North Pole and live with humans. One of his best friends Joe, the lucky bastard, is fortunate enough to be able to be one of the delivery elves, instead of the wrapping elves like Pete. In fact, he’s probably going on his first training run tomorrow morning. This thought keeps Pete moody and irritated all night, which doesn’t lead to a great start in the morning.

He wakes up, his alarm clock blaring a cheery tune about how great Santa Claus is (Pete smacks this off as soon as he can), and he dressed in average elf attire. He dons an emerald green outfit and that’s it. He has no idea where the stereotype that elves wore bright red and green, with bells and curved toes on their shoes, originated from. Also, he hates the idea that humans have, that elves are short. Pete isn’t _that_ short.

After he’s finished dressing and eating plain cereal, he waits at the public sleigh stop, where scheduled sleighs driven by reindeer arrive to take elves to work or school. Some elves don’t even have to work for the enormous Christmas gift production that Santa controls, which makes Pete even more jealous. He swears that the elf controlling the public sleigh Pete takes always looks smug. In fact, today he looks even smugger, and this does nothing to improve Pete’s grumpy mood as he climbs aboard and takes a seat next to the very pregnant elf he always sits next to, who probably is on maternity leave. Oh, God, why can’t _Pete_ just go on break too? Preferably for an eternity?

As the sleigh takes off for Pete’s work, he can’t help but take in the surroundings. The secret colony the elves have created in the North Pole is admittedly beautiful, the tiny little houses dotting the snowy landscape, brightly coloured lights sparkling everywhere due to the working season. It’s exactly a week before Christmas and the festivities have begun, even with the workload increasing as more and more humans start to wish for what they want to receive. Pete suddenly anticipates Christmas, because after it is over there’s a six month break where he has absolutely no responsibilities. (He has no friends or family either, but that doesn’t matter. That much.)

His life is so monotonous, so repetitive, that he knows exactly what’s going to happen before it does. The pregnant elf gets off, and a couple get on. Two more stops, and the girl of the couple kisses goodbye to the boy, and gets off to go to her work. Pete knows exactly what is going to happen because he’s lived in this routine so many times before, _too_ many times before, and this bores him to tears.

Eventually, a mountain soaring above them approaches, and the sleigh is right under it. There’s a sudden lift to the sleigh, and Pete hears the reindeer’s hooves clop against the ice as they begin to climb the mountain, on which the Gifting Centre is perched upon. He never fails to gasp at the brilliance of it all, the icy blueness, the snowflakes falling gracefully, the steep climb, but today his grumpiness takes away the awe quite quickly. The sleigh is late today; the ice is bad and it slows the motion a bit. It eventually stops in front of the Gifting Centre.

Pete gets off the public sleigh with five other elves, bids goodbye to the driver like he always does and walks towards the massive Gifting Centre. It’s an enormous building made entirely from translucent, colourful ice, crafted in a spectacular fashion of spirals and swirls. Waste of time, if you ask Pete.

“ _Everyday in the North Pole is a great day_!” says the banner plastered above the entrance Pete walks under. Next to it is a picture of Santa Claus grinning and showing a cheesy thumbs up.

“Fuck you, Santa,” Pete says under his breath, just like he does everyday.

“’Morning, Pete,” the greeter elf at the front desk says, like she always does.

“Good morning,” Pete says, like he always does.

He moves out of the entrance room, and into the elevator. He ascends to level nine, and then makes his way to Wrapping Room 44, where he always goes. When he arrives, there are already hundreds of elves in the room at their own stations.

The overseer Andy is nicer than the other overseers of other rooms, but when he sees Pete, he crosses his tattooed arms, sighs and still says, “You’re late, Pete.”

“Sorry, bad traffic this morning,” he replies quickly and then makes his way over to his wrapping station 23C.

There’s already the huge list of human children on his station. Every wrapping elf has their list of people they have to wrap gifts for, along with statistics, what the humans want for Christmas and special notes associated with the children. The list was given to Pete at the start of the year, a catalogue more than double his height, with everything written in a miniscule font that he has to squint to read. When the workday is finished, everybody drops everything and is expected to continue completing the list, wrapping the presents, then dropping them in the respective chute. Some lucky bastards have already finished their list, but Pete still has a few dozen to go.

“Okay, let’s see what eight year-old Janice Fenwick of Adelaide, Australia wants,” Pete says under his breath, squinting and looking at the information. “Does that say ball or doll? No, that definitely says doll. What kind of doll? What the fuck, Janice? Be more decisive next time you send a letter to Santa … okay, says here in special notes she likes blue. I’ll get her a blue doll then.”

This is the least favourite part of Pete’s job. Wrapping Rooms are arranged in a particular fashion. All around the walls are the stations, where elves wrap and look at their lists. One wall is filled entirely with chutes for the presents after they’ve been gift-wrapped, leading to different sleighs, which will deliver to different places. But in the centre of the room is a shallow pit, overflowing with toys, books, stationery, anything a child could want. The largest pain is trying to find the perfect present for the particular person. It’s hard, because there’s a hundred metre pit filled with millions of things, and every time Pete thinks about how there are a _hundred_ different Wrapping Rooms, and there are _a hundred times_ as many presents throughout the whole Gifting Centre in different rooms. Pete is always surprised by the absolute magnitude of the whole wrapping production.

Sometimes, when a wish is odd or unusual and wouldn’t normally be in the huge pit of presents, elves have to specially order from the overseers, which is painful and irritating and wastes time in getting gifts for their assignments. Thankfully, Pete has never had to specially order a present. Sometimes, though, Pete can’t find what he wants and he’ll chuck in something not entirely perfect and just write that it’s for that child anyway. He’s sure that his is against the rules, but everyone does it, so, whatever.

Pete, though, easily finds a blue doll on top of a colourful electronic keyboard. He plucks it out and returns to his station. There are already rolls of wrapping paper, scissors, sticky tape and ribbons waiting for him, and with expert hands that have done this a thousand times, he wraps the present. Then, he quickly scribbles that the present is for Janice and from Santa – he feels like barfing every time has to write that – and then he’s done wrapping.

Now he has to deliver it. Sighing, expecting this, he glances a bit at the guide to which number chutes lead to which number sleigh, which will deliver presents to children in whatever state or city. Chute number seventy three goes to the Adelaide, so Pete walks over to said chute and drops Janice’s present. Merry Christmas, Janice.

Pete sighs, and moves on.

He checks off Janice’s name, and then sees the next one, which startles him because this one is for an adult. It says: “ _Name: Patrick Stump. Age: 18. Lives in: Wilmette, Illinois. Wants: A friend. Special Notes: Has no family, lives by himself._ ” The coordinates for Patrick’s house are written in tiny letters and numbers beside the information.

A friend. This person, who is five years younger than Pete but is still definitely not a child, does not wish for a car, or a dog, or a house, or a million dollars. He wishes for a friend.

Pete suddenly feels a little sorry for Patrick, who has no family and lives alone. All he wants for Christmas is someone to spend it with. Pete, who has no family either and lives alone as well, empathises with Patrick.

But, what the fuck? A friend? How is Pete supposed to wrap and deliver _a friend_?

There is one thing Pete can do, which is talk to the overseer about this problem. Cringing, Pete realises this might mean specially ordering, and _right_ before Christmas, which is horrible. But, if Santa Claus or an overseer finds out that there are undelivered presents by Pete by the twenty-fifth, he’ll face dismissal, or even exile. Sighing, wishing that everything would go back to how it _normally_ was, so at least Pete knows what to expect, he makes his way to the door to the Wrapping Room.

When he does, he finds that Andy is not there.

“Where’s Andy?” he whispers to a nearby wrapping elf, whose name might be Brendon.

“There was a problem with one of the chutes delivering to some American state,” Brendon answers. “He went to check with one of the reindeer, because a trainee was having a problem controlling it.”

Pete sighs for what feels like perhaps the thousandth time today. “So he’s outside, with the sleighs?”

“Yup.”

“Okay, then,” Pete says, walking to the huge, wooden door.

Brendon narrows his eyes. “You’re not … you’re not thinking of going out, right? You know that it’s illegal.”

“No, I’m just taking a toilet break,” Pete says, smiling.

“But that’s illegal too–”

But Pete was already out the door, and had slammed it shut. It was kind of odd to be traipsing the halls of the Gifting Centre, which was empty now that all the workers had started their work ages ago. Pete entered the elevator, went down to the entrance, and tiptoed to avoid being heard by the greeter elf. He slipped out the door and began to walk around the building to the back.

The Gifting Centre’s chutes all lead to the back of the Gifting Centre, where millions of sleighs awaited. The chutes trajectories and had been measured for weeks upon the creation of the Gifting Centre, and now the presents that slid through each tube landed directly on top of the sleigh that would soon deliver the presents to the right places on the night of the twenty forth.

Thankfully, Pete would not have to look in the millions of sleighs spread out on the field. He is looking for a smaller, less crowded area where the training takes place. And – there it is, where the less experienced reindeer with wobblier legs walked around, and a more ramshackle sleighs shook. The little training ground is on the edge of the mountain, the one sleigh there ready to lift off.

“Holy shit,” Pete says from afar, squinting at the driver. The driver is _Joe_ , his best friend, looking terrified at the rein of the animals tied to his sleigh. Pete _knew_ he had his training today. Next to him, a brooding, tall woman – presumably the trainer – glowers at Joe and shouts words at him that Pete can’t hear but is probably not nice.

“I – I can’t do this,” Joe stutters as Pete gets closer. Pete can’t see any sign of any other trainees in sigh, so Joe’s reindeer must be the one acting up, but he can’t see the overseer Andy either. “I really – I don’t like heights.”

“You’ve flown across the _other_ training field a hundred times before!” the trainer yells at him.

“Because that was, like, fifty metres long, and it wasn’t high at all,” Joe retorts. “What you’re telling me to do is _murder_!”

“All I’m telling you to do,” the trainer says slowly, like explaining to a wall, “is to fly a few metres across the mountain, then fly back, then touch back down.”

“Exactly! Murder!”

The trainer groans, slapping her hand against her head.

Pete laughs, approaching closer. He decides to ask the trainer where Andy the overseer is and hopes she won’t get him in any trouble.

“I don’t even know how to _work_ the reindeers,” Joe argues.

The trainer slams her fist against the sleigh, making it shake and the reindeer attached to the sleigh neigh in fright. “We’ve done this _so_ many times! Just chant, ‘Oh, reindeer, with your tails so bushy, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?’”

“It’s not even night.”

“ _Just do it_.”

Pete is super closer now, and he shouts, “Hey, hey! Excuse me!”

But they don’t hear him.

“Oh, all right, fine,” Joe grumbles. “Oh, reindeer, with your tails so bushy, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?”

The reindeers begin to neigh in anticipation. The sleigh begins to glow, and Pete begins to run, suddenly afraid that he won’t get there in time. The trainer nods, and prepares to board the sleigh, to help Joe while he is airborne.

“ _Wait_!” he shrieks as Joe chants the mantra, the sleigh glowing even brighter and the reindeers beginning to paw at the ground.

The trainer stops to look at Pete in surprise, and does not climb upon the sleigh. Joe does not notice Pete and he chants even more, looking less terrified and more confident as the reindeer’s legs float up into the air and the sleigh lifts, sparkling with magic.

Pete cannot stop his momentum though, and he accidentally collides with the trainer, both of them yelling in shock and pain. Tumbling backwards, he begins to trip backwards, off the mountain’s edge.

“ _Shit_!”

The trainer reaches out for him but it’s too late. It would be too late for Pete as well, if not for the fact that Joe is a horrible sleigh driver and his magic begins to disappear. The reindeer’s legs sink a bit towards the ground.

With all of his strength, Pete grabs onto one of the reindeer’s feet. It makes a loud, surprised noise and the sleigh begins to sink even lower to the ground.

“What?” a voice comes from above. It’s Joe, bewilderedly staring at his reindeer and the slowly fading magic. “What the – _Pete_?!”

“Keep on fucking _chanting_ ,” Pete shrieks up.

The sleigh is flying awkwardly across the wintry valley underneath. Pete does _not_ want to fall down there, nor does he want Joe to lose control of his sleigh and let the whole thing tumble towards the ground and let them all die.

“Um, okay, oh, reindeer, with your tails so – was it brushy or bushy?”

Pete screams in frustration. With all his remaining strength, he grabs onto the reindeer’s torso and pulls himself up–

He does it, breathing heavily. Okay. Step one.

Joe continues his mantra, and the sleigh lifts kind of slowly, the magic returning gradually. Pete jumps from the reindeer and onto the sleigh, which, thinking back, is a horrible idea.

This startles Joe so much that he stops chanting and starts yelling in surprise, the magical glow keeping the sleigh upright disappearing in an instant. Suddenly, Pete’s shrieking as well, and the reindeers are wildly kicking everywhere as the sleigh plummets. Eyes darting around, he sees the control board, where elves can enter coordinates and teleport to places, and with frantic hands, jabs in the only coordinates he remembers–

And then suddenly Pete is flying away from the sleigh and then everything explodes in a mixture of differently coloured lights, like Christmas lights. God, how Pete hates Christmas.

 

*

 

Pete wakes up in a dark, lonely house, probably in a living room. There are no Christmas decorations, which should have been unusual if Pete wasn’t feeling half-dead. With bleary eyes, Pete can see something – possibly his arrival – has made a mess in the lonely little room.

“Fuck…” Pete groans. He tries to get up, but then there is a sudden aching in his arm. He glances a look at his arm and it’s bleeding a lot, an open wound that looks like something out of those human horror movies that Joe watches. It certainly feels bad, a repetitive throbbing that won’t go away. Pete hisses just looking at it.

How did he end up here? Probably went Pete entered coordinates in the magical sleigh, it teleported him here. Where’s everybody else? They probably got separated, which leads to another string of cursing from Pete. He’s lost his best friend Joe. Where even _is_ he? It’s definitely not the North Pole. He can’t be … _fuck_. When he entered the coordinates … the only ones he could remember were the ones next to Patrick’s name. He must have … _holy shit_. He was _on Earth_ – not that the North Pole wasn’t, but there is a distinctive _elfish_ feel about the colony Pete lived in, an otherworldly quality, disconnected from Earth. Now … Pete is in the place he so desperately wanted to be in for his whole life. But now … now? He’s terrified.

The lights switch on. Somebody makes a surprised noise.

Pete’s head jerks to the side and then he sees a human a little younger than Pete, still in pyjamas and looking like he just woke up. Pete notices, though, that the boy is _cute_ , with sweater paws pulled over his hands and hair mussed up and a sleepy yawn escaping his lips. His glasses are put on clumsily, like he just heard a noise and decided to inspect, and he looks dazed. Though he _does_ sober up at the sight of Pete and the mess around him, the upturned couch, the knocked over table, the shattered window. The person, presumably Patrick Stump, looks horrified.

“Who are you?” he yells at Pete. “Get out of my house!”

“Believe me, if I could, I would,” Pete says to him, though Patrick does not look amused.

Patrick picks up the nearest object – a broom – and wildly prods it in Pete’s direction, the sharp handle forward. “Why are you in my house?! Get out!”

Pete has to jump up to avoid being hit in the face, and it hurts his arm to lift himself up. “ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, then jumping out of the way again. “Stop, stop! I can explain!” he yells to Patrick, who doesn’t listen.

“What did you steal?” Patrick demands, brow furrowed. “Give it back!”

“I didn’t steal _anything_ ,” Pete shouts back, avoiding the spear-like broom. “I don’t even want to be here. If you could just let me leave–”

But at that moment, Patrick’s broom hits Pete’s upper arm, near his shoulder, in the same place where the wound is. Pete recoils, hissing pain, and he trips over something on the floor. He is sent back sprawling, his shoulder colliding with the floor and sending yet another ripple of intense pain up his arm.

Patrick is standing over me and has lost all his anger. He looks concerned as he crouches beside me. “Fuck, are you okay?”

Pete almost laughs. “I mean, you _were_ the one who did it to me.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean to – well, I mean–” Patrick stumbles for words, confused.

“Ah, don’t worry,” says Pete. “Was good aim. You would make a good defender of your home against real burglars.”

“You’re not _really_ a burglar?” Patrick asks, head tilted.

Pete shakes his head. “No, I’m not.”

Patrick sighs. “Well, if you’re really not, then I guess I can help you without feeling like I’m … helping a weed grow or something.”

And he leaves the room, leaving Pete with the impression that _this kid really_ is _alone_. He has nobody else in his house, or someone would have helped him, or he would have alerted the other person. Plus, there’s only one of each in the living room, one seat for the sofa, one chair next to the table, one pair of shoes set carelessly aside. So – Patrick really _does_ need a friend. Pete feels a twinge of empathy in his chest.

“I’m back,” Patrick says when he returns, with a wet cloth, and a white kit with a red cross on it – Pete can almost remember the name of it, from when one of his assigned children wanted a hospital play set. A first-aid kit?

“Can you sit up?” he asks.

“I guess,” Pete says, and Patrick helps him sit up against a wall.

“Okay, I need you to take your shirt off,” Patrick tells him.

Pete splutters. “ _What_?”

Intimacy in the elven colony isn’t something shared with just _anyone_. Intimacy is saved for the one you married, and nobody usually took their shirt off in the freezing weather anyway.

Patrick looks at him strangely. “I just – I think it’ll be easier for me to clean your arm if your shirt is off. I’m sorry if – if you don’t want to.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Pete says. “I’m just … not used to taking my shirt off.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow. “Even to bed in the summer?”

Pete shudders, thinking of the frigid temperatures, especially during the night time when everybody slept. Taking his shirt off overnight would probably lead to having his torso turn into an ice cube. “Especially not to bed.”

“All right, then,” Patrick says, shrugging. “Well, can you do it yourself? Or do you need my help?”

“Can I have your help, please?” Pete asks awkwardly.

Pete raises his arms and Patrick begins rolling up the shirt. Pete shivers whenever Patrick’s fingers touch his stomach as Patrick takes it off. Pete should feel the cold from the contact with night wind with flesh, but all he feels is heat from embarrassment, the blush creeping up on his cheeks.

“Okay, here we go, it might sting a little,” Patrick says, putting Pete’s shirt aside and taking out some wipes.

“What–? _Ouch_!” Pete hisses as Patrick daps the little wipes against the wound.

“What the fuck is that?” Pete asks, recoiling.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Patrick says, “These are alcohol wipes.”

What? “Alcohol?” The only alcohol Patrick has ever known or seen is the large brandy that Santa Claus drinks on special events, like the day after Christmas, or New Years Day. Why would Patrick put brandy on his skin?

“Yes,” states Patrick slowly, his eyebrows knitted. “It can help remove germs. I’ll also give you some cool water to clean the wound.”

Other little events happen throughout Patrick trying to heal Pete, Pete not understanding what is happening and Patrick pretending to hide his curiosity, until Patrick draws the last straw when Pete gets scared at the sight of a bandage.

“Where are you _from_?” demands Patrick. “You’re definitely not normal, you’ve been raised in a very narrow environment where you’ve never needed to do any first-aid. You don’t come from here, because it’s pretty hot in the summers and nobody sleeps with their shirt on. Why are you so … weird?”

Pete hesitates. Should he tell Patrick?

“You won’t believe me,” Pete says to him.

“I’ll try my best,” Patrick says, folding his arms.

“Fine,” Pete says, rolling his eyes. “I … I – well–” A sigh. “I’m – I’m an elf. Like, from the North Pole. I work for Santa Claus. I have a list of kids and what they want for Christmas and I have to find the right gift and wrap it, then send it to sleighs. I’ve never been outside the North Pole before, until now, when my best friend’s sleigh crashed and I got teleported into your house. And now, I’m stuck here with no way of getting back.”

Patrick blinks. “What the fuck? Are you joking?”

“I _told_ you that you wouldn’t believe me,” Pete says, crossing his arms.

Patrick scratches his head. “Um … wow, that’s really weird. Are you being serious?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” answers Pete, annoyed. “If you don’t believe me, then know that _I_ know your Christmas wish was to have a friend.”

Patrick goes silent once again. “How did you … how did you know?”

“Because I’m an elf,” Pete replied matter-of-factly. “All the wishes and desires come to us, flowing in the water and the wind, through air and ground, magically appearing on the lists that Santa gives us. We elves wrap presents according to what our assignments wish for. And you were mine. You asked for a friend.”

Patrick breathes slowly. Pete hesitates, wondering if he should continue. This boy … just seems so lonely, and Pete feels a twinge of empathy ripple throughout him.

“And I’m here to grant your wish,” Pete says. “From now on, I’m your friend.”

 

*

 

“Cleaning is so boring,” groans Pete, lying on the couch that he had just turned the right way up a few minutes ago.

Patrick rolls his eyes, his broom brushing rhythmically against the debris-wrought floor. “We wouldn’t really need to be doing any cleaning if you hadn’t barged into my house and wrecked the living room three days ago. Plus, you’re not actually doing _any_ cleaning.”

There’s some sweat on his forehead from sweeping so long, and in the days of closeness between the two of them, Pete has come to learn things about Patrick, like that he’s a pretty heavy sweater, and that he blinks about twenty-one times per minute and that he smiles kindly whenever Pete says or does something stupid (which must be a lot.)

“I _was_ doing some cleaning and I believe that I was cleaning long enough to have an appropriate assessment of the excitement that cleaning brings,” Pete says.

“Did you swallow a dictionary?” Patrick wonders aloud.

“What’s a dictionary again?” Pete asks, frowning. He’s still not used to all the things that humans do and use, and has found it difficult to adapt the past few days. Patrick still hasn’t allowed Pete to go outside, because he’s scared Pete will go and hurt himself. (Pete appreciates his concern, but would also like to go outside to see real _grass_. He hasn’t been able to see grass yet.)

“It’s the book that says all the meanings of all the words in it,” Patrick explains.

“Oh, that one! No, I didn’t eat it, but I _did_ read a lot of it,” says Pete. “Did you know that to cachinnate is to laugh loudly?”

“Nope, but what I do know is to keep you away from books,” Patrick says, laughing. “Come on, help me sweep while I brush the glass away, okay?”

(These days, Patrick seems so much happier and less lonely. Pete hopes it’s because of his presence.)

“Why are you brushing the glass, and not me?” Pete asks, frowning.

Patrick hesitates. “Pete…”

“You don’t trust me,” Pete answers for him.

“That’s not true,” says Patrick adamantly. “I just … I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I know you’re the older one and act more mature and are smarter, but you’re in a new environment and there’s some stuff that could potentially be dangerous and I won’t feel happy unless you’re safe.”

Pete sighs. “I get it, I get it.”

Pete takes the broom and begins to try and sweep the debris away while Patrick goes to look for a smaller brush and tray to sweep the glass into. The tip of the broom, though, is very bad for sweeping and the brush hits Pete in the face when he sweeps. His shoulder is much better now, due to Patrick’s help, so he no longer needs any bandages (though Pete can’t pretend he didn’t like it when Patrick touched his bare skin.)

When Patrick comes back, he sees Pete struggling to sweep up the mess. He starts laughing, and sets down the brush and tray.

“You’re holding the broom the wrong way, silly,” Patrick says, grinning, walking up behind Pete, and holding his hands around Pete’s arms. Pete tries to ignore how his heartbeat quickens or how his breathing becomes shallower. Of all the things Pete’s new life has introduced him to … Patrick is the largest mystery. Pete can’t seem to find out why Patrick makes him feel so … _yeah_.

Patrick guides Pete’s arms to turn the broom around so the brush is on the floor.

“Oh,” Pete says.

“Oh, indeed,” Patrick says, smiling. Together, they move the broom in a smooth motion, sweeping all the mess away into one corner, like they’re doing a waltz like the people on the television last night, until there is no more debris left. Patrick lets go of Pete’s body finally and Pete tries to smother his utter disappointment.

“Okay, now that you’ve officially wasted my time cleaning _for_ you,” Patrick says, though there is no venom in his voice and there is only humour in his smile, “you can go toss all that rubbish in the trash can while I finish the rest of the cleaning.”

Both their hands linger on the broom, Patrick’s on Pete. They both look at their hands, watching one hand fit perfectly in the other’s and they both look up at each other at the same time. Pete’s breath hitches–

“Patrick, I–”

“Really should be throwing that in the trash,” Patrick says shortly, turning away.

Pete tries to hide his disappointment yet again. In that moment, he really wanted to kiss Patrick.

The next day, Patrick finally takes Pete shopping.

Pete is so utterly excited when Patrick tells him so, and it takes all the strength Patrick has to drag Pete back into the house when Pete decides to go in his pyjamas.

“ _No_ , Pete,” Patrick says, trying not to smile, “When people go outside, they wear _outside clothes_. Especially since it’s winter now, you should wear something thick and warm, so you don’t get cold. I don’t want you to get sick, not so close to Christmas.”

“Can you pick out what I should wear?” Pete asks. “I’m still not sure what I should wear and what I shouldn’t.”

“Of course, Pete,” Patrick says, nodding. “I have a lot of clothes in my room.”

Patrick’s wardrobe is full of huge clothing that is _way_ too big for either of them, but Patrick says he likes warm clothes. Patrick picks out a black coat for Pete, and underneath a sweater and thick pants, with long, broad gloves.

“It’s not very fashionable,” Patrick says, scratching the back of his neck. “But I want you to stay warm.”

“I think it looks great,” Pete says, grinning and putting a smile on Patrick’s face.

Patrick spends ten minutes helping Pete put on the seatbelt before Patrick finally starts driving. Pete is fascinated, and he finds the surroundings even prettier than the elven colony that he used to live in. The buildings all glisten sliver, and they rise higher than the sky, and the snow is fluffy and nice, unlike the chunky, icy snow back at the North Pole. The roads are wet and shiny, the houses all pretty and different from one another. Everywhere Pete looks there’s Christmas decorations, celebrating the incoming holiday, and he wonders what it’s like back in the North Pole, whether they miss the boy in Wrapping Room 44, at station 23C. Pete definitely doesn’t.

When they arrive at the cluster of shops in the city, Pete is shaking with excitement. _An actual fucking shop_. Where they sell groceries and clothing and Christmas decorations and–

_Fuck_. Pete’s so excited.

He hasn’t seen any other human beings in person other than Patrick before, and Patrick has to restrain him from pointing out people’s different hair colours, what they’re wearing, how tall they are. There _are so many people_ and Pete gasps every time he sees something different as they walk around and Patrick’s grinning and telling Pete to be quiet but he’s laughing while saying it.

Patrick has to hold Pete’s hand to keep him from running away to look at every new thing he sees. (Pete finally calms himself later on, but doesn’t tell Patrick because he likes holding his hand.)

“ _Look_!” Pete says, thrilled, pointing at a display in a cake shop. “It’s a _snowman_ cake. Oh, my God! It even has a _carrot nose_. Do you think that’s a real carrot?”

Patrick laughs, clutching Pete’s hand. “Let’s go somewhere else, Pete.”

When Pete sees a very Christmas-y display in a hotel, he frowns. “Hey, Patrick? Why don’t you have any decorations in your house? You don’t even have a Christmas tree. Everybody else has stuff in their house, but we don’t have any in our house.”

Patrick’s eyes widen at the ‘ _our_.’

“Well, I don’t … I’m not a very festive person,” Patrick answers slowly.

“Come on, can we buy stuff?” Pete asks excitedly, grinning and bouncing in delight. “I’ll help you make it pretty!”

Patrick smiles. “Sure, why not?”

So that’s how all of Patrick’s car gets filled with a _whole Christmas tree_ , along with boxes full of stuff going on the tree, like baubles and fairy lights and tinsel. Adding to that, there are foods like Christmas cookies, pie, roast turkey and eggs.

“How _are_ we going to finish all that food?” Patrick asks when they get back home, loading all the food into the fridge.

“Don’t worry, I believe in the emptiness of our stomach,” Pete answers.

Patrick laughs, and sends Pete a sidelong glance once again.

“Why do you always laugh at me?” asks Pete. “Are you being mean?”

“I’m not being mean!” Patrick says, biting his lip. “It’s just … you’re so … cute when you’re excited. It’s really … it’s really cute when you’re happy.”

“Oh,” Pete says, confused. If Patrick thinks he’s cute, why won’t he kiss him?

Patrick turns to look at Pete again, and there’s a look of confusion once again, the tension so thick a knife could cut it, the _I want to kiss you but I’m not sure if you want to kiss me_ , and then it’s gone when Patrick turns away and breaks the stare.

“Um, I’m going to go get the tree out,” Patrick says, pointedly not looking at Pete. “I’ll be back.”

Pete sighs again in frustration, as Patrick leaves.

On Christmas Eve, Pete finally confronts Patrick while he’s busying himself with adding decorations to their admittedly magnificent Christmas tree.

“Patrick, if you think I’m cute, why won’t you kiss me?” Pete blurts out.

A silence. Then, a sigh. “Pete … it’s more than just a matter if I think you’re cute or not.”

“But I wanna know,” he says stubbornly.

Patrick turns to Pete, sighing. “I just – you won’t understand.”

“Stop treating me like I’m stupid,” Pete says, frowning.

“I will if you keep _acting_ like it,” Patrick retorts.

Pete’s fists clench. “Fine.”

They both go to bed that night without saying goodbye to each other.

In the middle of the night, Pete is tossing and turning, thinking that if he were back in the North Pole, he would have just finished work, relieved and gloriously happy because it would have been his last work day for another few months. And some elves would have their sleighs filled with gifts for children in the area they were assigned to, and they would be controlling their reindeer and sleighs, and begin delivering to sleeping, excited children all over the globe. Pete would go to sleep alone, and that would be sad.

Even now, he is sleeping alone.

He thinks about the boy who he was assigned to, his last ever assignment, who wished for a friend. And Pete tried to give that.

Patrick, whom Pete believes he is in love with.

He doesn’t know what stirs him to leap from his bed in the spare bedroom to go to Patrick’s, but whatever it is, it’s strange and confusing and _true_.

“Patrick, I love you,” he tells the sleeping man.

“ _Pete_ ,” Patrick groans and rolls around in his bed. “You can’t just _say_ that.”

“Why not?” Pete asks and sits on the edge of Patrick’s bed. “It’s true.”

“We’ve known each other for a week.”

“So did Romeo and Juliet.”

Patrick stuffs his head against a pillow. “When did you have the _time_ to read Romeo and Juliet?”

“Summaries from the internet are very useful,” Pete says knowingly.

“Well, whatever I want to wake early for tomorrow,” Patrick says, his voice muffled.

“Technically it’s one a.m., so it’s already Christmas,” Pete says happily. “Merry Christmas, Patrick.”

“Oh, my God, you’re so annoying, _just let me sleep_ ,” says Patrick, voice muffled.

“Not until you tell me why you won’t kiss me.”

Patrick rolls over to have a look at Pete. “Has it ever occurred to you that I may not _like_ you?”

“Oh,” Pete says. “Damn, that’s awkward, then.”

“It’s not true,” Patrick says, and relief floods Pete, “but it’s a possibility.”

“So?” Pete prompts. “Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to take advantage of you,” Patrick sighs. “You’re – you’re a such a sweet and cute and hot guy, but you have no idea about human stuff, and I wasn’t sure if you knew anything about kissing or whatever.”

Pete shrugs and grins. “Well, I do. We could do it now.”

“ _Pete_ , it’s one a.m.”

“Perfect time for kissing,” Pete says and joins Patrick under the blankets, the two of them giggling.

“Merry Christmas, Pete,” Patrick hums and snuggles up to Pete.

Maybe Christmas isn’t that bad after all, Pete thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, this was written for a Secret Santa for someone, but I just thought I'd post this, because I was feeling a little bit bad for not posting anything for a while! :)
> 
> Merry Christmas!


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